


Professor Holmes

by potentiallyAWKWARD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, College, Forbidden, M/M, Professor!Lock, Teacher!lock, Top!lock, enema, teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiallyAWKWARD/pseuds/potentiallyAWKWARD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's Forensics professor teaches him a few lessons outside the curriculum...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cas_novak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cas_novak/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Milk Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/124332) by Druscilla_Way (I think...). 



John hefted up his bookbag as he stood from the cramped desk, glancing at the clock. 12:00; he had enough time to catch up on the latest Dr. Who episode before his next class. This thought in mind, John Watson rushed down the steps of the lecture hall and was nearly out the door when an all-too-familiar voice called him back.

“Mr. Watson, a word?”

John froze, stomach sinking. Oh shit. He knew he hadn’t done well on his exam- all the rubbish about DNA analysis and blood spatter- but from what he had heard, hardly anyone had. The dozen or so students left in the hall brushed past John as he turned back to the professor, the door clanging closed behind him verbalizing the sense of being trapped.

“Yes, sir?” John turned to his Forensics professor. John hadn’t ever really seen him up close; from the way he talked and acted, he would have assumed that Professor Holmes was in his forties. However, the man standing before him seemed hardly older than he was- 26, tops. He must’ve been some sort of prodigy to already have gotten a doctorate and secured such a stable job.

His professor was impeccably dressed, as always. He wore a black suit with a white dress shirt under, topped off by sleek black dress shoes. The only thing missing was a tie. Holmes perched casually on his desk, looking warily at John. He squirmed uncomfortably; it felt as though his professor was X-Raying him.

Holmes jumped off his desk, dark brown curls bouncing slightly. He took a few steps toward John. “I wanted to talk to you about your future.”

John gulped. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking bollocks. Shit. “M-My future?” he managed to gasp, somehow not blurting something stupid in his panic. If this conversation was going where he thought it was going, he likely wouldn’t have a future to talk about. He’d be homeless, out on the streets begging. Oh, Christ, he’d have to go to soup kitchens and accept charity and shit, what would his mum say?

“Have you ever considered being a doctor?” Holmes smiled, blue-grey eyes lightening in amusement. As if he knew the internal conflict John was experiencing.

“I’m sorry, I know I di- what, what?” John stopped mid-sentence, realizing what his professor had just said. “Like, a DOCTOR doctor?”

Holmes’ smile widened. “Yes, a medical doctor. I think it would suit you better. You seemed to excel in the blood typing and autopsy parts of my class.” He stepped closer and closer to John, seemingly unaware of how uncomfortable he was.

John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Oh. Erm… no, I guess not. I always wanted to be a detective,” John admitted with a slight blush.

Professor Holmes smiled. “I wanted to be a pirate when I was a boy, and yet…” He gestured down at himself with a small laugh. “Things change. Interests change. People change, Mr. Watson.”

“John,” He blurted. Holmes seemed a bit taken aback.

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me John,” he amended, blushing furiously. Damn it. He wasn’t going to have time for Dr. Who… “Or not. Whatever.”

Holmes cocked his head. “Alright… John. Wait right here.” He walked back over to his desk (John relaxed a bit; he had been getting pretty close to him) and grabbed a small stack of papers and a pen.

He sauntered back over to John, calm and confident. John wished he could siphon some of his aura and use it as his own.

“I figured you would agree, so I filled out all the necessary papers to switch classes,” Professor Holmes explained, mouth twitching. “All you need to do is sign down here.” He indicated to a short line at the very bottom of the last page.

John looked up in amazement at his professor. “That’s… wow. That’s extremely kind of you, sir.” He took the pen from Holmes and scribbled a few lines for his signature, holding out the pen for him to take back.

Holmes grabbed it and took in a quiet, sharp breath. So he had felt the zap of electricity as well when their fingers had brushed momentarily. John looked up cautiously. Holmes’ eyes seemed to have darkened a few shades. John swallowed, uneasy by the heat pooling in his stomach. He liked girls, he reminded himself sternly. Boobs and pussy and tits and vaginas-

“You’re not my student anymore, legally,” Holmes breathed, entirely too close to John. His cool breath washed over John, who shivered.

“I like girls,” John blurted. He shut his eyes. Oh God… he was an idiot. Now Holmes would never touch him… which was a good thing…? John couldn’t think with his professor breathing down his neck, literally.

“Your wristwatch says otherwise,” Holmes mumbled, eyes flickering down to John’s Rolex.

“My… what?” John’s mind was spinning. Was he wearing a watch? He couldn’t remember. All he could focus on was the proximity of Holmes and the heat quickly building in his naval and oh God, maybe he did like cocks?

“Nothing. Look at me.”

John’s eyes snapped open immediately. His professor was staring intently at him, drinking in every detail like it was water to a dying man. John felt his face heat up, but he stared back at his professor.

“May I have you?” Holmes breathed, eyes dipping down to John’s trousers and back up again.

“What- now?” John asked, irritated by his hammering heart and growing arousal. HE LIKED BOOBS, DAMN IT.

“Yes. Here and now. On my desk.” Holmes’ voice was nearly hypnotic, and watching his eyes darken with lust was enthralling. God, this was fucked up, but John wanted it so badly. “Fuck,” his professor swore suddenly, closing his eyes in irritation.

“What?” John felt like whining for some unknown reason. “Like you said, I’m not your student. I just signed the papers-”

“Enema,” Sherlock mumbled, clenching his fists. “You need- fuck. Do you know where I live?”

John felt his arousal wilt. The word seemed vaguely familiar, but it caused his balls to shrink up inside his body. “Why the hell would I know where you live?”

Holmes let out a snort. “Point well made, Mr. Watso- John. Here’s my number.” He pulled a phone out of his pocket and typed a few numbers. John patted his jacket, trying to find his.

“Shit, I think I’ve lost-”

“Here.” Holmes held out the mobile to John. His mobile.

“How did you get that? And it’s password protected!” John huffed indignantly.

Holmes smirked as John snatched his phone back, checking to make sure his professor hadn’t done anything to it. “Text me between 5:00 and 6:00. I’ll send you the address. Bring nothing other than your mobile.”

Holmes tilted his head, indicating that John was dismissed. Once assured that he hadn’t done any irreparable damage to his phone, John cast his now-former professor a glance. “Okay.”

Just as the door was closing behind him, John could swear he heard Holmes say, “Sorry about Dr. Who.”

But it was probably his imagination. He surely couldn’t read minds… could he?


	2. The Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to 221B Baker Street, despite his doubts.

John’s mind froze when his phone buzzed. Oh shit. Oh shit. He was sure it was Professor Holmes, and oh God he wanted to shove a tube up his arse to clean out his colon and oh God he couldn’t do it. He’d have to move to a new university and probably a new city and get a new name and oh SHIT.

Nonetheless, he paused the season finale of Dr. Who and grabbed his mobile from the coffee table.

‘My address is 221B Baker Street, London. Please come, and dress comfortably. Arrive no later than 8:00. -SH’

S. Holmes… he’d seen it on the plaque on his professor’s desk, but had never wondered what it had stood for. Scott? Stephen? Samuel? Seth? He had no idea. He pulled up MapQuest and typed in the address… it was nearly 30 minutes from London Metropolitan (his university.) If Holmes wanted him there by eight, he had to leave quickly. He jumped up and grabbed his jacket, turning off the telly and grabbing his keys.

“I’ll be out,” he yelled, not sure if his dorm mate Mike was even here. Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d call Scotland Yard if John was gone for an hour or so. He opened and shut the door quietly, walking to the elevator and waiting for it to come.

Buzz. ‘By the way, don’t be frightened. Many people find enemas quite enjoyable. Arousing, even. -SH’

John gaped at his mobile. Holmes was so blunt… what the hell…?

‘If I hadn’t known what an enema was before now, I would certainly stay away from you’ John typed in response, smirking at his own wit.

‘Some doctor… doesn’t even know basic medical terms. -SH’

John was nearly positive that he was joking, but it was hard to tell over text, and especially with his professor… well, it was hard to tell if Holmes was yanking your chain while having a face to face conversation with him (or rather his face to a hundred of his students’ faces.) Just before John could reply with something equally biting, the elevator came and opened.

John stepped forward without looking, trying to think of something snarky to text. Maybe something like ‘Some professor, hitting on his student.’… but that seemed like a low blow (maybe literally, he thought with a shudder. Damn it. He had to be gay.)

“Eh!”

John’s head snapped up as an automatic apology sprang from his mouth. “Oh, shit! Sorry. I-” He froze midsentence, staring at the man he had almost walked directly into. His chocolate brown eyes were kind enough, but below the surface he could see a stare so blank that it made his skin crawl. “…didn’t see you there, Jim,” he finished with a strained smile.

Jim Moriarty smiled back easily with a shrug. “Eh, happens to us all. I’m one of those guys who just slips into the background.” His Irish accent made him sound dreamy and quaint.

For some reason this made John shudder. He’d talked to the Forensics major before, sure, they shared the same class… but something about him made him uneasy and rather frightened, actually. “I know what you mean. Excuse me-” John shuffled around the thin man, noting his tight grey shirt and jeans. Obviously he was trying to impress someone by his appearance. He stepped into the elevator, beyond relieved when the doors closed. He closed his eyes as his pulse slowed into a more steady rhythm.

Still thinking about Jim as he got into his car, John set off for 221B Baker Street, too preoccupied to worry about what was about to happen.

~~~

John knocked hesitantly at his ex-professor’s door. He heard what sounded like an elderly lady call something and a second later footsteps. Only a few seconds later the door was opened and there stood Holmes. He smiled, opening the door wider and allowing John to enter.

“I’m very glad you came, John, but what’s the matter?”

John looked up in astonishment. “Oh… er… I saw someone in the hall on the way over and it just rattled me a bit.” He decided to leave out the part stating that he had just remembered why he was here and was feeling slightly nauseated.

“Jim Moriarty rattles you?” Holmes asked with a smirk. Before John could even ask, he held up a hand to explain. “He approaches me almost daily trying to get my affection. I know his cologne, unfortunately, and he’s the only one I’ve ever smelt it on. But here you are, with Jim’s cologne on, so I deduced you walked by him, at the very least.”

John gaped at the man, unable to form words. Finally, he managed to splutter, “Brilliant!”

Holmes’ eyes widened in surprise. “Really? That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

Holmes smirked at John. “Piss off. Now, come on, we have work to do.”

John followed him up the stairs obediently. “Work?”

Holmes looked over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk. “Well, enemas aren’t as easy to execute as sitting down and watching crap telly.”

“Oh,” John replied simply.


	3. The Enema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets an enema.

John was immediately lead up a flight of stairs and into the living room of 221B Baker Street. Holmes passed through the room and the kitchen quickly, hardly giving John a chance to look around.

“Was that a skull?” John asked curiously as Holmes opened a door in the hallway.

“Yes,” his professor replied. “An old friend.”

John frowned. So his Forensics professor kept skulls of old friends… maybe he was a bit more loopy than he had originally thought. Holmes entered the room and turned on the light, bidding John to come in. He found himself in a rather large, modern bathroom furnished with a large shower and a bathtub. John nervously appraised the bag, hook, and tube which he could only assume would be used for the enema, but perhaps they weren’t going to do that after all. At least, he could hope.

“Professor Holmes, I-”

“Please, John, call me Sherlock,” Holmes replied with a kind smile. “And if you want to have any kind of relations with me tonight, you’re having an enema.”

John was pretty sure his stomach had just hit the floor and bounced back up to his throat. He could feel his face redden. “Ahaha, erm- I-”

Sherlock took a step closer to John, shutting and locking the door behind him and pinning John against the door. He leaned in close to John’s ear. “Because that’s why you came here, John. You want me to fuck you. You’re already hardening just from my voice. Can you imagine what it will feel like when I’m pounding your tight little ass? Because I can. And fuck, it feels good.”

Sherlock turned suddenly and grabbed the medical bag (it looked like an IV bag) and filled it nearly full with tap water, adding what looked like table salt in and shaking it. He hooked the sack up on the hook and connected the tube, allowing a bit of the solution to squirt out before closing the tap.

He turned back to John, eyes dark and deadly. “Are you ready?”

John hadn’t moved. He had stayed motionless against the door, trying to convince himself that he was not aroused and was not actually a bit excited for this. However, he nodded minutely.

“Take off your clothes. All of them,” Sherlock commanded.

John removed his blazer and undershirt first, blushing as he bared his chest. He was glad that he had some muscle at least. Next John pulled down his trousers. All he had left was his boxers now… Sherlock was smirking at him and oh God, those eyes… and that voice… Almost without thinking, John removed his pants and set them hastily in the pile of discarded clothes.

“Good boy,” Sherlock breathed, looking at John’s exposed body with undisguised lust. “Now turn around and grab your ankles.”

John did so, blushing. His arse was high in the air and completely exposed. He heard Sherlock take a step forward and he spread his long, expert fingers across John’s arse cheeks.

“This is mine,” Sherlock hissed, stepping forward even further and pushing his arousal into John’s thigh. “And mine alone. Do you understand?”

The blood was rushing to John’s head and cock painfully. His brain was clouded. “Y-Yes, sir,” he replied after a moment.

Sherlock stepped back. “Good. You may climb into the bathtub and take the doggy position. You are familiar, yes?”

John blushed as he stood. Yes, he was very familiar with the position… usually he wasn’t on the receiving end, though. John stepped into the bathtub and got on his hands and knees, face burning with humiliation. Even so, his cock was already half-hard.

He heard Sherlock leave the room, but John didn’t dare move. Instead he stared at the wallpaper directly in front of him, trying to pull himself together. He had always been a bit… curious… but never in a million years did he think he’d actually do anything sexual with another man. Much less his professor, for God’s sake!

“Ex professor,” John mumbled to himself just as Sherlock re-entered.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.” John looked quickly down at the drain of the tub, afraid he would somehow read his mind like he seemed so able to do. He always knew who had and hadn’t studied, who copied whose notes, et cetera. No, his mind was perfectly fine unmolested by Sherlock’s prying gaze.

To John’s surprise, Sherlock placed a pillow just below John’s nose. “Rest your head and neck; I don’t want to strain you. Yet,” he added with what sounded like a smirk, or at John hoped so.

John tentatively lay his head down, surprised by how much more comfortable he was.

“Are you ready for your enema?”

“Yes,” John replied hesitantly.

“Hold it all in,” Sherlock whispered as he inserted the small tube into John’s arsehole. It probably went in two or three inches. “This might feel a bit… odd. But please try to keep it all in.”

John assumed that Sherlock turned the nozzle because suddenly a warm liquid was filling him. The pressure was hard enough to not just drip out, but not hard enough to be uncomfortable. He let out a small whimper but stay still, feeling very exposed and completely at his former professor’s mercy.

For several minutes the liquid gushed into John’s colon without complaint. But then, the cramps started. The worst cramps he had ever felt. It was like his abdomen was swelling and would burst at any moment.

“Fuck!” he cried, feeling tears form in his eyes. “Stop, please. Please. Please stop.”

Sherlock turned off the nozzle and crouched down next to John. “Shh. Shhh… it’s alright. You’re doing fantastic. You’re over halfway there, John! You’re doing so good. It’s almost over, I promise.”

John was breathing heavily, tears running down the tip of his nose and onto the pillow. “Only half?”

Sherlock placed his hand on John’s abdomen and rubbed gently and slowly, easing some of the discomfort. “Only another five or ten minutes, then I’ll be done injecting the serum.”

John whimpered. “Go on. Turn the bloody thing on.”

Sherlock stood and turned the nozzle again. The liquid continued to flow into him, although now each drop added to the pain until John was sure he couldn’t possibly hurt more, and was proven wrong the following instant.

Sherlock turned the nozzle. “All gone, John. You did so, so well. I’m going to remove the tube, but don’t let any out. Clench your muscles if you need.” He crouched down next to John again, gently taking out the tip of the tube. John sighed as the pain dulled a bit, but it was back soon enough.

“How long?” John asked between gritting teeth. Now, along with the God-awful cramps, he had the intense feeling that he needed to use the loo.

“Only ten minutes. We can talk. What do you want to talk about?”

Not being able to see Sherlock would be a disadvantage in this conversation, but he leaped at the chance to learn more about him and to give himself a distraction from the pain. “Alright. How many times have you done this?”

Sherlock hesitated. “Five or six, maybe. I’ve had relations with eight people total. I’ve had an enema given to me twice.”

John sagged. So he knew what he was doing, at least. Not that he thought Sherlock would do this without any expertise. “All men?”

“Yes. All women?”

John laughed. “Yes. This will be a… new experience.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, it will be. I can teach you things you never dreamed about, John. But that’s for another time.”

“So there will be another time?” John asked. At the moment, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“If you would be willing, I don’t see why not. We’re both consenting adults.”

“How old are you?” John asked suddenly.

“Twenty-six. And you?”

“Twenty-four,” John replied. So they were very close in age… they may have gone to the same schools. Except that Sherlock was some boy-genius who probably graduated with honours at age ten.

“What’s your favourite book?”

Sherlock paused again. “Probably The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He was a brilliant writer. You should read his novels. And your favourite?”

John laughed. “Well, I’ve always enjoyed The Lord of The Rings by J.R.R. Tolkein.”

“You can stand up now.”

John almost didn’t register these words. “Wait, am I done?”

Sherlock laughed. “Not until you get to the toilet, no. But you can make your way there. I’ll be in the hallway. Yell if you need anything.”

John stood awkwardly, his abdomen feeling slooshy and full. He stumbled to the toilet and sat down. Not a second was wasted, and with a sigh of relief, the liquid was expelled from his body.

~~~

Feeling about three hundred times better, John opened the door. Sherlock was indeed at the end of the hall, reading a book. He looked up. “Everything alright?”

John blushed. “Yes. I’m all clear.”

Amazingly quickly, Sherlock was pressing his lips to John’s. They stumbled backward into an open door which Sherlock closed by kicking. The feeling of Sherlock’s trousers against his bare cock was making him remember his former arousal, and John deepened the kiss. His tongue traced Sherlock’s lower lip, who opened his mouth eagerly to receive him.

John stumbled and fell onto a bed, and Sherlock bent over him, taking both his hands and pinning them with one of his high above his head. Sherlock smiled as he ground his pelvis against John’s, inciting a moan from the latter.

Sherlock broke away from John, panting. “I want to fuck you right this second and make you scream so loud you wake up the entire fucking block,” he breathed, eyes impossibly dark. John lay, panting and needing more. “But I don’t want to hurt you, so I have to go slow,” Sherlock finished, releasing John’s wrists. Sherlock’s long, slender fingers trailed down John’s chest and abdomen, stopping just above his cock.

“Turn over,” Sherlock ordered. John did so, feeling his fingers trail down his lower back and stop right… there.

He reached over to his nightstand and took out a small bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount onto his fingers.

“This might feel uncomfortable,” Sherlock mumbled, tracing the puckering hole. The chill of the gel made John shiver. Without another word, one finger was thrust into him.

John gasped but stayed silent, body quickly adjusting to the intrusion. Sherlock pumped his finger in and out of John slowly, warming his body up. He added another digit then, and John cried out, but Sherlock kept the steady pace at which he was finger-fucking John. Now Sherlock began to scissor him, adding a third finger. By now John was getting used to it and was meeting Sherlock’s fingers with his hips eagerly.

Sherlock pulled out and removed his shirt. “Missionary position, Mr. Watson. You are now ready to be fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual pain is like intense period cramps, but John wouldn't know that, so I had to improvise a bit.
> 
> I'll be gone all next week and therefore unable to update, but I will add another chapter ASAP.
> 
> Sorry about that cliff hanger :) (NOT REALLY)


End file.
